Getting Old

 Not too long ago, I was out on my front lawn smelling an old fence post and thinking what an odd job I have. I wasn’t limiting my sniffing to the fence. I also went about the property putting my nose to the bark of trees, and even a bush. Luckily, this was when I was still in Shenandoah where my neighbors are too far away to see my odd behavior. The reason I was imitating the typical dog out on a walk, was entirely due to a scene I was writing. A character was scaling a wall, their face pressed to the surface. No chance the character wasn’t getting a nose full of old wood. Only, what does old dry wood smell like? 

If you’ve ever seen the movie Stranger Than Fiction where the author Karen Eiffel (played by Emma Thompson) goes to great lengths to understand how her characters feel in order write about them, then what you just read might make more sense or merely increase your bewilderment. Most of the time I can imagine sights, sounds, and smells, but I was stumped on wood. This wasn’t old musty attic, nor mushroom laden decaying wood. The best description I had was “earthy.” This would have worked fine if such a word existed in Elan. Only it doesn’t.

One of the annoying drawbacks to writing invented world fantasy is how so many absolutely perfect words, phrases, and common references aren't allowed. Try describing an earthquake without the word earth, afternoon, without the word noon, or the midday meal which used to be called dinner. Some have even questioned the feasibility that people applauded or clapped their hands to show appreciation. What’s worse are words that are legitimate yet they are seen as inappropriate such as shoot, drive, or explode. Incidentally, it is amusing to me that explode comes from the Latin explodere to “drive out or off by clapping or making noise,” as in an audience’s reaction to a theater actor’s performance. I have long chaffed under these and other restraints that hamper my sense of free flowing expression, and force me to backspace over perfectly good sentences and ideas. 

I never wanted to be a fantasy writer. I’d mostly walked away from that section of the bookstore the same time I left high school. I was lured by the vivid relatability of more contemporary stories, the sort where I could simply go to a place and write about what I saw. The hours I spent describing people in coffee shops, or transcribing their conversations into dialog, was thrilling and so much easier than trying to imagine what a princess’s bedroom might look, smell, or feel like. Writing Hollow World had been a blast despite most of it taking place in a distant future. At least the point of view character possessed the same frame of reference as the average American. I didn’t need to explain or omit anything. I could free associate to my heart’s content. And yet, in my grass-is-always-greener mentality I failed to see that despite these limitations and draw backs, the invented world fantasy offers one attribute that all other genre’s lack. It alone possesses the intrinsicly super power of timelessness that bestows at least the chance at on-going relevance for future generations.

Recently, I have been re-reading a few of my favorite Stephen King novels such as The Stand and It. They are still wonderful, filled with inspiring prose and stunningly crafted characters, but they’re getting old. Set in the real-world, and locked in time and place, these grand tales are becoming dated. References are lost, and contemporary terms—like the ones I wasn’t allowed to use in fantasy—are acting as lead weights tied to the legs of a world class swimmer. Given enough time, it is possible these novels will acquire a nostalgic allure, and then perhaps even a historic charm. I recently discovered I owned a first edition of Hemingway’s Farewell to Arms, and found it fascinating to read a book that was both written and printed nearly a hundred years ago. To me the slang, lifestyle, references, and customs were more compelling than the story itself. Hopefully, this, too, will be King’s legacy. 

It was, in fact, Mr. King who first alerted me to this idea of fantasy’s timelessness. I read something he wrote about how mega bestsellers from years ago having been almost entirely forgotten and how only fantasy seems positioned to be resistant to this aging sickness. Nothing is immune.

Given my first book was published in 2008, my works are creeping up on their twentieth birthday and receiving their AARP invitations from readers who post reviews that speak of my stories as established and even enduring. I am forced to acknowledge my accidental good fortune. The world has, and continues to change at such breakneck speeds that not merely references and slang are victims but also fundamental beliefs, attitudes, and ethics. Had I been writing closer to the bone, wading in deeper cultural waters, perhaps I might have made a bigger splash. The cost would have been the ephemeral nature of such fame and the loss of the example my characters appear to have provided to a weary world looking for safe harbor. In another decade, my readers will likely have moved on to greater writers and my books would have been used to steady a table leg or be set out on the curb like a velveteen rabbit. But if I have any chance at all of securing that highly competitive space on the occasionally visited dust-covered top shelf it may well be due to having written fantasy rather than aiming for the great American novel. I think this is important because I suspect people will continue to suffer troubling times in the future, and the next generation may again find a need for refuge from dark skies and turbulent winds.